A Daria Sutra
by Sleepy Lotus
Summary: Two years into college, world traveller Tom Sloane plans a backpacking excursion to India, and finds himself unexpectedly inviting Daria along. One thing's for certain on this epic journey: nothing will ever be the same again. DariaTom
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Alright, so after my obvious earned notoriety as a Trent/Daria shipper, I feel I must address this impending oddity of a Daria/Tom pairing. I've been watching all the Daria episodes, and well...Tom and Daria _did _make a good couple. ::ducks the bottles and chairs thrown from DT shippers:: Tom was intelligent, one of the few young people in Lawndale on her intellectual plane, sharp, funny, sweet, extremely patient, and though not in possession of the smoldering and exotic good looks we so adore on our beloved Mystik front man, he's pretty damn cute. So in light of the hamsters oh-so-insistently turning the wheels in my authoress' mind, I'm afraid I just have to pursue this wild hare. I'm hoping for some open minds, and maybe it'll be a fun ride::ducks more thrown bottles, chairs, tables, and a stray rubber chicken::

A/N II: Backpacking has ruined me. After a 1 ½ stint in Peru and 7 months in asia last year, I know it's a passion I'll now pursue until my dying day. Not to press too much of myself on the characters, but I really do think it's a hobby/raison d'etre a curious intellectual like Tom could embrace later in life, as well as Daria, with someone to give her a good shove in the right direction. Now, on to the fic!!

**A Daria Sutra:**

**Chapter 1**

"Ouch! Damn it!"

The sound of water striking porcelain muffled most of Daria's cry of pain, but the evidence ran in a crimson rivulet, down her leg and down the drain. Cutting one's leg while shaving is easy enough, but it was particularly exacerbated by the forest of hair that had sprouted on her lower limbs. She'd let it grow as a feminist whim over summer break, and the deal was sweetened three-fold by the discomfort it caused Quinn. _Mo-OM! As though Daria wasn't __**already**__ embarrassingly weird enough, she's going all ca-AVE woman on us!!_

The memory made Daria smile, even if several nicks on her legs stung like hell. So why was she putting herself through this time honored albeit self-defeating feminine tradition? She was loathe to admit, but the cause was a guy. And what would said _guy_ have thought about such a thing executed in his honor? Probably a smirk, a snarky comment, but Daria surmised that underneath it all he would probably appreciate the effect.

And why would she _care _about said guy's opinion of her? Visual or otherwise? Well, said guy's name was _**Tom...**_And like it or not, this was a meeting she'd been looking forward to all summer. In fact, it was something of an unexpected rendezvous, for Daria had already left Lawndale again, moved back to the dorms in Boston a week early, preparing for classes to start. She'd assumed many things about not seeing Tom that summer around town, the most forward of which being that he'd moved past her with new friends and relationships and experiences, and no longer felt the compulsion to compare notes. Though she knew it to be perfectly natural, the thought still inspired a pang, far back in a dark corner of her heart she kept even _more_ locked away than the rest.

Imagine her surprise the day before, when the little blue façade of her cellphone flashed TOM insistently, accompanied by Bethoven's ninth. She stared at the contraption, the sudden thrill of nerves coursing through her spinal column tempting her to give in to anti-social urges and just let it ring. But at the last minute she snatched it up, pressing _talk _and saying, _Hello?_

_Hey Daria. This is Tom. _

_Hey Tom. What's up?_

_I'm sorry I didn't call you earlier, but I just got home. Barely. You would not believe how testy Paraguayan immigration officials get when you're missing an entrance stamp in your passport._

There was a pause over the phone, and in a rare moment Daria found herself sarcasm-less. _Did you just say Paraguay? _she asked, certain she'd misheard.

_Yes indeed. Boy do I have some adventures to regale you with, Ms. Morgandorffer. Can I come see you?_

Still slightly confused, she'd said hesitantly, _You do realize I'm in Boston?_

_Yeah, your mom told me. I stopped by your house._

_Oh...When do you want to get together?_

_How about tomorrow?_

_**I**_

Window down, warm summer air whipping past his face, Tom cracked a smile as his fingers drummed on the steering wheel. One of the few things he'd truly missed from the States was his music. Reggaetone is interesting upon the first few exposures, but at least for him, the strange synthesized rhythms and non-synchronous vocals quickly wore out their welcome in his eardrums. He'd preferred to listen to people, real people, chattering in rapid-fire castellano, or the dead silence of a cold night high in the Andes.

The past three months had sped by like a dream, and he could still hardly believe they'd been real. The backpacking bug had bitten him last summer in Europe, but no amount of traveling in developed western countries could have prepared him for the delightful chaos of the third world. He felt that up until three months ago he'd been living his life in shades of gray. Something about the intensity of the developing nations, the novelty, the brilliance of the cultures in the face of daunting poverty opened his soul to a completely new spectrum of colors.

_You gringos are all so cold, _had said a campesino to him, aboard a cargo barge chugging through the murky waters of the Amazon river. _So hunched in on yourself. Suspicious of everything. Afraid of someone taking whatever it is you think you've got. _The comment had struck Tom as funny at the time, for just two weeks ago he'd nearly been robbed at knifepoint in broad daylight, in La Paz.

_One must be careful _Tom had answered in halting Spanish, causing his newest friend to break out in a toothy grin. Several of his teeth were missing, and the remaining survivors seemed to be well on their way.

_Si, es verdad_ agreed the campesino. _But that's not what I mean. You gringos, you must find some warmth. Real warmth, in real people. You try to keep out the cold by burning your money, but it's no good. You're still all going to freeze to death, if you don't blow us all up first. _Tom had smiled, nodded, signaling he'd understood, even if he couldn't translate his thoughts. His comprehension was far better than his spoken Spanish. With a hearty laugh, the campesino clapped Tom on the back. _Find someone, hombre. Build a fire. A real fire. You can't worry about fear, it's a waste of time. _With that parting note, he'd ambled down the stairs, probably to retire to his hammock, or flirt with the girls in the kitchen.

Tom had several more conversations with the campesino throughout the course of the journey, who's name he learned was Cesar, but none stuck with him so persistently as that one. It reminded him of that special girl, that queen of sarcasm, who remained never far from his thoughts. Even two years after that time when he might have even dared to call her his own, she still hovered behind the curtain in his mind. At times he would be rewarded with a flashback, of quick brown eyes behind owl-rim glasses, that mona-lisa smile, or the memory of how deceptively soft those lips, which uttered such razor-sharp observations of the world around her, felt against his.

Truthfully, he knew he would have pursued a cross-university relationship, had she given them the chance. But she'd shot it down out of the sky, oh so effectively, with a utilitarian sense of purpose that would have made Machiavelli proud.

Had he really been bored? He didn't think so, though she must have read it as such. He had his own theories. After much speculation, sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling, that what had appeared to be boredom was only masked fear. He never knew how far he could step with Daria in those days. Any little push could set her off, freak her out. A less determined, less captivated individual would have abandoned the cause long before, but he'd wanted to see it through. Perhaps part of it was the challenge. To find Daria, the real Daria, of which he only caught glances of in lucky moments. He'd hoped she would trust him enough someday to let down the walls.

Tom had known he would call her upon his return. They already had a tentative date to compare notes, after all. He didn't think he would be prying too deeply. Where he wished he could see her more often than once a year, he'd always been afraid to push for more, afraid he would lose what little privileges he still retained. Why did it have to be like that, with the one woman who didn't seem to be from another planet? It was funny, really, in a sick sad way. Tom couldn't help but speculate what life could be like between them, if they could just stop being afraid of each other, as Cesar had suggested? _It wouldn't be like anything_ he reminded himself sourly. _Because unlike you, she's moved on._

But _what if?_ he persisted. He'd learned to be more open in the past few months. What if he could keep himself from running for the old suit of armor in Daria's presence? What if they could share something real again? She'd gone through yet another year of college. What if experience had seasoned her more for human interaction? He realized he would be finding out quite soon, for the skyline of Boston cut through the horizon up ahead.

_**II**_

Daria recognized Tom's junky beater a few cars down, as she traversed the parking lot of _Kina's Café_. A little shot of adrenaline quickened her heartbeat at the thought of being face to face with the man in a mere matter of a minute. Annoyed at herself, she adjusted her messenger bag. _And just why are you so antsy, Morgandorffer? _Truth was, she didn't exactly know.

Perhaps the prospect of some stimulating conversation interested her. She'd met a few others aside from Jane, but even in Boston she still felt as though she were an alien walking through a sea of ignorant and disinterested humans. _Tom will just be a breath of fresh air, is all_ she assured herself. The prospect would have frightened her less, had she not felt as though she were drowning.

Upon first entering the café, the smell of freshly ground coffee greeted her. Taking a deep breath of the heavenly brew, she looked around for Tom. Her eyes made several passes around the cozy room, and she did not see him. _Maybe he's in the bathroom _she thought, beginning to move to snag a table to wait. But stepping towards the tables, a familiar form caught her eye, of which she'd overlooked before. At that moment he chose to look up, familiar crystal blue eyes meeting her gaze, causing a tingle to stir at the base of her spine. "Hey Daria," he said happily, setting aside his newspaper to stand.

"Hey Tom." A smile curled her lips, and she found she could not tear her eyes away from the new characteristic that had caused her to overlook him. The brown scruff of a beard covered the lower half of his face, trimmed, but still glaringly apparent.

Rolling his eyes, he sighed, "You're looking at it just like my mother. Is it that bad?" Tom hoped he effectively masked the excitement doing cartwheels in his stomach caused by the sight of her with routine sarcasm. The past year seemed to have treated her well. Though there were few visible changes, a new pair of thick black square-frame glasses, and her jacket and pleated skirt replaced by a summer weight black dress, she seemed to hold herself with an air of confidence he'd never noticed before. It was something he'd always hoped she'd grow into, always felt she deserved to find.

"I'm not sure," she answered with a smirk. "Is it real?"

"Want to touch it?" he asked playfully, raising eyebrows.

"I guess it may be the closest I'll ever come to petting a wild badger."

"If it bites you, it was probably only a crime of passion."

The moment the innuendo left his mouth Tom's stomach cramped, hoping to God he hadn't already overstepped the line in his first five minute of seeing her. Once upon a time she would have blanched, but much to his relief, and subsequent surprise, she sidestepped it with ease, quipping, "That was the claim at Pizza Forest too, but I still felt it necessary to have the furry fiend put down."

"Remind me to sleep with one eye open from now on."

"Or just wear a muzzle."

"They tend to chafe, in my experience."

"And most people only have skeletons in their closet..."

"I thought you always liked the skeletons in my closet."

"Only the real ones."

"So are you going to touch it or shall we order coffee?" he teased.

"This is usually where I pull out the pepper spray, but you're not wearing a trench coat commando style." Indeed his ensemble was far from it, and in a way, far from his usual preppy khakis and sweater. He seemed relaxed in khaki shorts, a faded t-shirt, and a pair of what appeared to be well-traveled Birkenstocks.

"It was a close call this morning in front of the closet, but then I realized it wasn't Tuesday. Oh, how I do enjoy my Tuesdays..."

Rolling her eyes, Daria reached up tentatively, to run fingers over the fuzz on his cheek. It was wiry, yet softer than she'd expected. Her nails grazed the dusting of hair lightly, and the contact with Daria's slender fingers caught Tom off guard, lulling his eyes closed for a moment.

"Well, I'm sure you're relieved to know you'll never have to purchase steel wool again." Daria withdrew her hand, as surprised by her bold gesture as Tom. The tips of her fingers burned, ever so slightly. _Whoa there, Morgandorffer._

Tom quickly opened his eyes, attempting to pretend he had not succumbed to the gentle comfort of female fingers. Funny, how this woman so easily unraveled him. Did she know? Was she taunting him? One look in those coffee brown eyes told him _no_, she was not playing games. If Daria was ever aware of how desirable he found her, she'd never shown it. She most likely had no idea of the effect she had on him, even still.

"Don't tell my roommates, they'll put me on dishes duty."

"Your secret's safe with me."

Daria's lips curled in that heartbreakingly beautiful Mona Lisa smile Tom had come to adore. It hit him like a punch in the gut out of the blue, but he took it gladly. "I missed you, Daria," he found himself admitting softly.

Daria got the feeling he didn't just mean the summer, or since the last time he'd seen her. The thought unnerved her in a way. However, where perhaps once she would have cut and run, or even lashed out, picked a fight to distract attention from any real prospect of intimacy or trust, she simply nodded. "I missed you too," she said, barely audible above the din of the crowd. And at that moment, she wasn't exactly sure in what way she meant it, only that she did.

Finding Tom staring intently into her eyes, as though he were trying to decipher her complex-nigh-impenetrable inner workings, a familiar fidget caused her to twitch. "So," she said, voice loud and clear. "What's this about Paraguay?"

Tom smiled wide, not quite flashing teeth. "Let's get coffee, I'll tell you _all _about it." He made a gesture of _ladies first_, and as he watched Daria from behind, he thought _I would give a finger to know what she's thinking right now. _

And what was she thinking?

In truth, something along those very same lines.

_**III**_

"...and so I just slept outside, on a bench, in Buenos Aires."

"Weren't you scared?"

"Sure, a little. But that's part of the fun."

"Is it now? Like going to a haunted house, or the dentist."

The friends sat for several hours, sipping from bottomless mugs, and exchanging stories. They sat side by side in a booth, looking down at a photo album full to bursting with scintillating photos of his journey. Daria tried not to think about the line of warmth his body emanated, inches away to her right. Innocently enough, his arm would brush hers, reaching out to point at something, or turn a page. It woke old feelings long buried within Daria, confusing her even as they guiltily warmed her insides.

Daria couldn't believe that in a mere three months he'd made it through Chile, Argentina, Paraguay, Brazil, Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador, and even Columbia. And by the sounds of it, at times, barely. She tried to fathom the courage it would take, to hare off on a trip like that, all by yourself, with only a little Spanish under your belt. It made her wonder if there was an element of rebellion, or something in particular he'd needed to escape.

"What made you decide to do this?" she asked. "To just pick up and leave for three months?"

Tom paused, considering his answer. "I suppose I was running," he admitted quietly, suddenly very interested in a picture of dark skinned children smiling up at the camera, up to their ears in a murky-watered swimming hole.

"From what?"

The bitter laugh that escaped Tom's mouth took Daria aback; she could count on one hand the times she'd heard such a raw sound from him. "From being _Angier's Boy_," he confessed. "From my family, from my school, from my friends...from the world that had been created for me from the day I was born. The prep-school ivy league persona. For a while I'd managed to compromise with it. Play the game, but still save some face. But this year I just felt like it was...eating me, from the inside out. Devouring my soul. I felt I had to go somewhere so unlike anywhere I'd ever been before, to actually find out who I _really _am."

He glanced up from the album, to meet Daria's eyes. Those cocoa orbs studied him intently, and he fought not to squirm beneath the microscope. Sometimes he felt as though those eyes of hers could lay him bare, leave him with nothing left to hide behind. Tom wondered what Daria thought of this rebellion against his birthright. _Poor little rich boy, has everything he could possibly ever want, and still isn't satisfied. _True, it was the human condition to feel ever-unfulfilled, whether justified or not. But he hoped she found more depth to his discontent than merely being spoiled.

Once upon a time, he'd hoped to find some refuge in Daria. She'd seemed to live in a whole other world, the polar opposite of his own. He'd wanted to visit that world. Curl up in it, around her, and stay for a while. Tom had dared to hope she could see past his family name, his family's wealth and status, and just see _him. _Maybe even love _him. _But it seemed that no matter how she tried, or didn't try, as the case may have been, she remained utterly _freaked out _about those well-to-dos he shared a bloodline with. He knew now he should have known better than to hope Daria could rescue him; she was far too confused with her own life, much less the complications of his.

"So?" she prompted. "Did you find out?"

Had there been any hint of mockery in Daria's voice, Tom would have shrugged it off. Avoided the question, declined to share his deepest fears with someone he looked up to so very much. However, by her tone, and her gaze, he could tell she was one better than sincere: she was interested. The thought frightened him a little, for some reason, causing him to give a shaky laugh. "No, not quite," he admitted. "But I learned a lot. About myself, and perhaps more importantly, the world outside. So I've decided to take a year off after the fall semester, to travel some more. To really take a step back, evaluate things, while exploring some new territory."

Daria's eyebrows raised. "Where? Back to South America?"

Tom shook his head, bangs hanging in his eyes. "No. Asia this time. I'm still planning, obviously, but I'm thinking to start with India and move East. I've heard some amazing stories from other backpackers."

"Like what?"

A soft smile curled Tom's lips, as he looked off wistfully. "I can't really explain, because they couldn't really explain. It was just this...look, this _feeling _I could sense while they tried to convey the wonder that is India...I just know it must be an amazing place. I want to go."

"That must be nice."

"What?"

"To just pick and leave for whatever country you want."

Tom shrugged. It was a subtle change, but Daria noticed him pull inside himself, just a bit, perhaps feeling that no matter what he did, he couldn't escape the stereotype of a spoiled heir. It was a subject he even still felt a particular sensitivity to, around her. "It's not all that expensive, Daria. You can live in India for ten dollars a day. That barely bought us these two coffees."

"What about school?"

Tom grimaced. "It'll be here when I get back," he grumbled.

This reaction of seeming disdain surprised, and even concerned Daria. "Are you regretting Bromwell now?"

"Yes and no," he openly admitted. "The profs are great. The education is top notch. But as I kind of said before, the elitism is driving me insane. What really kills me is that it won't stop even after college. These people will go on for the rest of their lives not giving a damn about anything but the color of their next golf club bag, and think they're so much the better for it, while elsewhere children starve and..." Tom sighed, cutting himself off. "Sorry. I get worked up. After seeing so much poverty...we lead charmed lives, Daria. We really do. Even as "poor" students."

"It's good to be capitalist imperialists?" she deadpanned, looking over the top of her mug at Tom.

"I'm not sure good is the right word, but I agree with the latter half," he said with a smile. He turned his attention back to the photo-album, flipping the page. She took the opportunity to look at him, really look at him, not a shy glance stolen here and there that only satisfied fragments of her curiosity.

Aside from an intellectual attraction, Daria had always found Tom's features an easy sight to gaze upon. He'd usually seemed mostly disinterested in his outward appearance, but still managed to cultivate a (dare she admit cute?) boyishly intelligent image. Daria had never before found features that were particularly associated with the popular notion of masculinity interesting. Quinn gravitated towards the macho hunks, and she the skinny brooding types. And so it was with a twinge of surprise she found herself appraising Tom's latest appearance with an approving eye.

He'd never had much, but what was left of his babyfat had dropped off, leaving his features chiseled, more angled. The hard line of his jaw was only softened by the dusting of the beard. Skin bronzed from the sun, his brown hair was full of coppery sun streaks people would pay far too much money to emulate in the salon. Muscles toned from carrying his life in a rucksack, he was leaner than ever before, shoulders broader, hands once soft now callused by God-only-knows what. It was an adjective she never thought she would find herself using to describe Tom, but his latest adventure left him looking almost...rugged, in a way.

Tom turned to catch her gaze, and she jumped slightly as his blue eyes met hers. They too had gained something of an edge, though she couldn't quite describe it. A weight, for lack of a better word. Knowledge, of the world, of himself, and maybe even, she thought unnervedly, of her. In a gesture of what she felt at that moment to be self-defense, she averted her gave, turning attention back down to the photo album. "Some of these are really excellent, Tom," she complimented. "You should enter them in a photo contest or something."

"Oh yeah?" He sounded surprised to receive the compliment.

"Yeah. Or you could sell them. Maybe some of the less-inspired art students could use a good idea or two."

Tom laughed at the prospect. "Yeah, the art at Bromwell can be gut-wrenchingly traditional at times. An interpretation of one of these might be an improvement over a pleasant Gondola, cutting through the sunset-lit waters of a Venetian canal."

The painful visual caused Daria's stomach to turn (Jane had taught her _something _about art, after all), but the very mention of Italy inspired a nauseous churning in her gut. Tom tilted his head with curiosity, sensing a bit more behind the emphatic groan that escaped from between her lips. "Did your Dad create yet another pot of hazardous waste trying his hand at Italian cuisine?"

A cynical laugh accompanied Daria's mona lisa smile. "I'm afraid it's worse than a lethal pot of penne a la Jakey," she mourned, but declined to elaborate. Changing the subject, she pointed down at a photo of a decorated cemetery, somewhere high in the desert clime of the Andes mountains. "What's this?"

_**V**_

As several hours passed in the coffee house and the conversation did not exhaust, Daria invited Tom back to campus for dinner, courtesy of her meal-plan account at the RAFT café. Her roomate had not yet moved in, leaving the entire dinky dorm room to themselves. Seated at Daria's desk, Tom wolfed down a turkey sandwich, whilst Daria worked through a slice of Pizza on her bed. Finishing his meal, he glanced down at the papers strewn across Daria's desk. School had not yet begun, but it seemed she already was keeping herself busy.

One particular publication caught his eye. A glossy booklet featuring several smiling youths before the leaning tower of Pisa on the cover read: _Travel, Study, Explore Italy. _Quirking an eyebrow, he suspected he'd stumbled upon the cause of her previous discomfort at the mention of said country.

"What's this?" he asked, holding up the packet, and winning that same disdainful groan.

"_That _is my mother's latest scheme to get me more involved with the school. The cultural exchange department called my house inquiring if Helen thought her daughter might be interested (AKA could she afford it?), and now Mom thinks Florence would just be a _lovely _idea. Something about chances she never had as a student at Middleton..."

Tom tilted his head inquiringly, sensing this wasn't the half of it. "Most kids would jump at the chance to study abroad. I can't help but sense you're less than enthused."

Daria shrugged her narrow shoulders. "It's not the abroad part I object to. It's...I don't know. Something about it doesn't sit right. Paying entirely too much money to be coddled in a foreign country...I'm afraid it would be superficial or something. Not quite as real as it should be."

Leaning his head on his hand, Tom studied Daria with that newly acquired gaze of his. She fought the urge to squirm, though whether because of his evaluative stare or the warmth in his eyes as he looked at her, she couldn't quite tell. "So you do want to travel? And it's not the thought of being gone for the semester that bothers you?"

"Time lost? No, not particularly. I'm already ahead on my credits as it is."

"Over achiever."

"That's _inquisitive student _to you, buster."

"A rare creature, these days." A deep breath filled his lungs, and released shakily. Thoughts quickly darted through Tom's mind, bouncing back and forth like a flurry of quarter-machine superballs. At just the very beginning of this day, he had mused on his reluctance to push Daria to see her more often, afraid of revoking what friendship they'd managed to retain. So could he really be considering what was running through his mind at that moment? Was he crazy? Possibly. Probably. Still, he decided, that it perhaps couldn't hurt to try the waters. He'd been lucky with her thus far today... "I'm having a thought," he confessed, downplaying the veritable storm of possibilities raging rampant behind his eyes.

"Clear the runway. Dare I ask?"

"First, forgive me if this sounds hasty."

The disclaimer caused Daria to quirk an eyebrow. Where once she would have immediately been suspicious, that particular emotion was overshadowed, at least at the moment, by curiosity. "How can I forgive that which has not yet been perpetrated?"

"I'm opting for asking forgiveness over asking permission."

"Always the best policy. Come now, I can hardly stand the suspense," she deadpanned in that typical Daria fashion. Had he not known her so well, he probably would have chosen that moment to back away. Change his mind, lose his nerve, and run for the hills. Little did he know, her seeming lack of enthusiasm was actually an effort to conceal the tingle of curiosity tickling her brain.

"Do you want to have a real adventure, Daria?"

She blinked, stomach lurching with fear or excitement, seeming one and the same at that moment. "Is that a come on?" she inquired snarkily, that curious tingle shifting to a full on itch in a matter of seconds.

Undeterred, Tom answered, "No, it's an invitation. What would you say, if I proposed you come with me to Asia?"

Daria swallowed, hard. "I would say: are you serious?"

"Totally serious. You wouldn't have to stay on as long as me. We could fly you home anytime you wanted, to be back in time for the Fall semester."

"Backpacking?"

"Backpacking. The best way to get down in a new culture, and see something real. If it's _genuine _you want, that is."

Daria chewed on the thought, glancing down at her pizza, and back up to Tom. Backpacking. Real independent travel. No study abroad to hold one's hand. No tour guide to keep track of you. Truthfully the idea inspired as much excitement as it did caution, a rare medley of emotion for her. And then, there was the prospect of traveling with an ex. In particular, _this _ex. She'd had a few boyfriends and dates since their separation, but none had quite left the impression upon her that Tom did.

Would it be strange? Taxing? Infuriating? They seemed to get along well enough, but it was impossible to tell how they would react to each other's company day in and day out. Questions, possibilities, fears, and wild ideas swirled about her head.

Finally, she had to ask, "Why would you want to travel with me? I have no experience...you would be annoyed."

Tom rolled his eyes at what was in his opinion, a modest protest. "You're the most capable woman I know, Daria, I know you would quickly catch on. Why _wouldn't _I want to travel with you?"

"I'm not physically strong," she pointed out.

"You don't have to be. Travel light. I bet you'd be fine with a 40 liter bag, or less."

Traveling with Daria. The more the thought swam around in his head, the more enthused Tom became. She was intelligent, capable, curious...and company he usually enjoyed. How would being together 24/7 strain things between them? He found it was an uncertainty he was suddenly quite willing to take a chance on. She seemed to be truly considering his offer, which greatly excited him. Anytime Daria didn't immediately shoot down an idea with a cuttingly creative and sarcastic _no, _it seemed to mean it piqued her curiosity, at least a little.

Even so, Daria seemed to be searching for more excuses. This was a game she had to play, he now knew. She had to question, evaluate all the possibilities, and make for certain that the invitation was sincere. Though she would never admit it, Tom knew she needed assurance that the invitation was real, not just a courtesy. Stuck in the antisocial armor she'd forged for herself, she needed to feel as though she was truly wanted, before she would take the leap to try something or someone new.

And so cautiously, Tom pushed the envelope a bit more, hoping he did not trespass too far, sound too eager, and spook her. "Aren't you curious how most of the world lives, Daria? The world that doesn't have the basic comforts of western wealth? Don't you want to know? Not _know_ in the sense of picking up a National Geographic, but I mean really truly _**know**_?"

"I'll admit to a fair amount of curiosity."

"You might even be able to arrange earning some credit. Keep a journal or something, send back articles. I guarantee you'll learn more about the lifestyles of people, and about yourself, than you ever would by using an overpriced through school endorsed excuse for a multicultural program. You always hate superficial things. Why settle, when you can see something real?"

"You can't always guarantee that," she countered.

Tom bobbed his head in agreement. "No, I can't," he agreed. "The only thing I can really guarantee is that you'll never be the same again."

"Last time I heard that I woke up with a hangover and a missing liver..."

"I promise not to steal any of your internal organs."

"You _would _say that, wouldn't you?"

Glancing briefly down, Tom pointed out with a hopeful raise of eyebrows, "And just think, Daria. You wouldn't have to shave your legs."

This particular remark took her aback, causing her to cross her legs. "Is it that obvious I'm inept at wielding a sharp blade so close to my bare skin?"

"The band-aids are a clue, Sweeney, though I happen to find adhesive strips of vinyl attractive on a woman."

"We'll just see how you fare, shaving off that thing you call beard."

"All the more reason to keep it...indefinitely."

_**IV**_

Tom and Daria stood in the parking lot of Daria's residence hall, streetlight bathing them in a circle of yellow light. "It was good to see you, Daria," said Tom. He did not push the subject of travel any further, convinced that Daria had chosen to purposefully change the subject a while back. He felt a bit of the bite of disappointment, but not too much. Had he really expected her to jump up and agree on such short notice? _Daria, _of all people? Well...maybe he'd hoped, a little.

"It was good to see you too," she agreed, shuffling her feet. She seemed quite interested in the toes of her boots at that moment. It was much to his surprise when she turned her attention back to him, wise brown eyes bravely meeting his gaze. "Um...about the backpacking thing. I'm not setting down a resounding no yet...if that's ok."

Tom's mouth hung open for a moment, the man left speechless. Had he heard correctly? Quickly, he recovered. "Yeah, that's ok. That's great, actually. Take some time to think about it."

Daria nodded. "When do you want to know by?"

"We can play it by ear, though maybe sometime soon. If you decide to go, it would probably be nice to have tickets on the same flight, though not entirely essential...but we would have to apply for an Indian visa before we go, and having a Chinese visa in advance could make life easier. Embassies abroad can be such a pain...We could sit down with a Lonely Planet, and figure out where we want to go, though a lot of that will probably be played by ear..." Travel complications darted through his mind. Already, to do lists, packing lists, plans and technicalities to attend to. The thought excited him, greatly.

"Lonely Planet?"

"Guidebook. Backpacker's Bible."

"I see." Hardly believing what was coming out of her mouth, Daria had to ask, "Are you _sure _this would be a good idea? Traveling in a third world country with your ex?"

Tom smiled warmly, giving no hint of the little pointy worries playing havoc in the pit of his stomach. "If you recall, our breakup was of a more practical nature, rather than the need to separate on basis of hating each others guts..."

"It was?"

Tom's face fell, and Daria poked him in the arm playfully. "I'm kidding. I enjoy...being around you," she admitted. _Still. _Apparently, enough to consider embarking on a multi-month adventure of a lifetime with him. This meeting of the minds had gone swimmingly, far better than she really ever could have hoped. However they both had changed, matured, grown, it seemed to aid in their interaction. Could it last? Remain amicable? Or would they be at each other's throats in no time?

"Well," teased Tom. "If you're afraid of falling hopelessly in love with me _again_, I promise to let you down gently." _If you promise to do the same for me_ he thought uneasily. Truly, as well as they seemed to get along this visit, it was something he feared in a way. Being vulnerable again, more so than he already was...it came with the territory. What ever came his way, he felt sure he could handle it. _Keep telling yourself that, Sloane._

When Daria did not laugh as easily this time, a pinprick of fear poked at his brain. _Nice, Sloane. **This **time you went **too** far_.

Finally, a sage smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "I can see at least your ego hasn't changed."

Fighting not to release a sigh of relief, he quipped, "I thought it was one of my more endearing traits?"

"I actually only dated you for your collection of first-edition books. If only you knew how many times that Sylvia Plath nearly ended up in my bag..."

"You couldn't be like normal girls, and just date me for my money."

"I like to be original. Are you going to be alright driving?" It occurred to Daria it would be quite late when Tom finally arrived back in Newtown. There was an extra bed she could offer him if he needed it, though she found herself craving to be by herself that evening. She needed to reflect, think about some things, and quite frankly Tom's presence would be the kind of distraction she didn't exactly want.

"I'll be fine. Um...you'll call me?"

Something about the look in his eyes intrigued Daria. At that moment there was an element of vulnerability to his gaze, coupled with the hopeful notes present in his tone. She realized that Tom still looked up to her in a way, even after all his travels, all his exposure to the ways of the world. She surmised that he hoped she wouldn't reject him, as he truly seemed to be interested in initiating her into this pastime of his called backpacking.

"Yeah, I'll call you. Give me some time to think."

"Sure. Of course."

Tom found himself hovering in an uncertain limbo. Anyone else he would offer a farewell embrace, but with Daria...a sudden image of Cesar hovered in his mind, that broken-toothed grin mocking his cowardly pale rear end. Daria paused when his hands raised in the universal gesture of offering a hug, but after a few heartbeats of indecision he found her in his arms, much to his surprise and delight. Her hair was soft against his neck and smelled of vanilla; when after a brief squeeze she soon slipped away, he felt it was an embrace too brief.

"Drive safe," she said, and with a tragic smile retreated back across the parking lot to disappear inside the brick compound that was her residence hall. He watched her go, the warm summer breeze lifting her hair behind her, with something that felt like heartache deep in his chest. Shaking his head, Tom got into his rust bucket, firing up the engine. He let it idle a bit, listening to a song wafting through the speakers. What had just happened? He decided that he couldn't quite be sure yet. Things would clear up later, when Daria called. Tom had a feeling it was going to be something of an agonizing wait by the phone.

Daria commended herself for her valiance, as she crossed the whole distance from parking lot to dorm without looking back. As she entered her cell and closed the door, she found herself leaning against it, as though she were exhausted. _What just happened?_ She wasn't entirely certain. Now in the safety of her own abode, she peered out the window in time to see Tom put the car in gear, and the rusty machine rolled out into the night. _Something __**significant **__just happened, _she realized. She now stood with two options, one familiar, the other not so much. She could run away, as usual, plead some excuse, and uphold the time honored tradition of disappointing Tom. _Or_, maybe, _just maybe_, she could steel her nerves, go out on a limb, and have an adventure. A _real_ adventure.

_What's it going to be, Morgandorffer? _

_That depends, _she answered herself. _How well does your digestive system get along with curry?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Either you're writing a research paper about India, or you're planning to run away for good," said Jane, eyeing the books about India scattered about Daria's desk. There was a Lonely Planet, a Rough Guide, Fodor's, other large coffee table books, and a copy of Gita Mehta's _Raj_ book-marked half way through. "Could it be that you're finally making a break for it, Morgandorffer?"

Raising an eyebrow, Daria nudged yet another book on the floor of her dorm room with the toe of her boot. "I thought I might make an early investment in a secluded Himalayan cabin."

"Never too early, I guess. So what's this really about?" Jane's intense blue eyes bore into her, willing the truth to come forth.

"Er..." Daria climbed onto her bed, seating her back against the wall, searching for a way to present her situation in a way that didn't quite sound so impulsively insane. "Remember how Mom wanted me to go to Italy?"

"Yeah, sure. Expose yourself to a new culture, while speaking English and hanging out with other Americans the whole time."

"Right. Well, a more interesting opportunity has presented itself. But I haven't quite decided whether or not to spring for it."

"Daria Morgandorffer? Spring? I would pay good money to see such a feat of athleticism from you."

"Then you're going to love this. Tom invited me to go backpacking with him in Asia."

Jane choked on the coke she'd just taken a sip from. "What?!" Daria sat quietly, signifying that she was in fact, dead serious. "When?"

"January."

"How?"

"How...what?"

"How...how did this come about? How did you see Tom? Why did he ask you?"

Daria told Jane about her earlier meeting with Tom, over coffee. "But even if I do decide I want to go, I don't know how I'll convince my parents."

"Yeah," laughed Jane, somewhat in shock. "Me neither. So you don't think it could be weird traveling in such close quarters with your ex-boyfriend?"

"On the contrary. I think it could be _quite _weird. But on the other hand, it might not be so bad. We still get along well."

"More than well, I would say. Has it occurred to you that young Thomas might have more than _friendly _intentions?"

_Of course it's bloody occurred to me, _growled Daria in her head. She wasn't daft, she wasn't blind, and she wasn't as green as she used to be. But the thought of Tom perhaps liking her more than a friend, even two years after their breakup, didn't exactly give Daria cause for alarm. Perhaps the most ungentlemanly thing he'd ever done was kiss her in a car, while still dating her best friend...and awkward social circumstances aside, she'd liked that pretty well, hadn't she?

"It has," Daria reluctantly admitted.

"And..." Jane's eyes went wide with surprise, and glinted sapphire mischief. "Daria!! You don't particularly mind or care, do you? I knew you'd get over the fact that boys have coodies some day..."

Daria hefted a thick heavy guidebook in her hand, signifying with a look that she was calculating the probability of hitting her target, or it sailing past Jane and through the window. "Look, before you get any ideas-"

"Too late. And I have to admit, the idea of you an Tom riding on a flower laden elephant-"

"Jane!"

Jane shut her mouth, but crimson lips curled wickedly. Daria knew the thoughts still turned the cogs, even if the mouth no longer gave them voice.

"If I go, it will be to seek out destinations and knowledge I would perhaps not acquire left to my own devices, with one of the few people whose company I can stand for more than a few hours without looking for a sharp implement of destruction. Period."

Jane nodded, but obviously did not entirely believe her best friend. Yet, at the same time, she understood. Backpacking in Asia _probably_ wasn't something Daria would do on her own. Not as a first trip out of the country, anyway...having Tom with her would be comforting. Courting adventure in the safety of numbers, not completely left on her own in a strange land. Daria was strong, and Daria was brave, but Daria often depended on those around her to introduce her to unfamiliar territory. In high school, Jane herself had been that element of zest in Daria's life, dragging her to parties and concerts and all other manners of mahem Daria wouldn't have sought out by her onesies. Daria even relied on Jane to meet guys...first there had been Trent, and then Tom... Jane chortled to herself, thinking on the strange domino effect of fate, and the fact that all this perhaps would never be happening, if it hadn't been for a seemingly innocent ride in a car with the roof rusting through, between Mystik Spiral sets.

"Alright, Amiga," said the artist. "You have my approval. But if Tom doesn't bring you back in one piece, he better not even bother to come back. I've been curious about this _plastination_, but have had trouble finding a body to try it on..."

"Where I appreciate your concern for my well being, though perhaps your motives for me to _not _come back alive are alarmingly not in my favor, I haven't decided to go yet."

"When will you know?"

Daria sighed, glancing down at the guidebook. It was an older lonely planet, featuring a wall painting near a ghat in the holy city of Varanasi. A beautiful Indian goddess smiled up at her knowingly with ruby red lips, head laden with a golden crown traditional jewelry. As though the pictures within the guidebook weren't enticing enough, Daria found the information inside to be even more enticing. It told of a scintillating land, where the wonders were as diverse as the people who inhabited it. More than a billion people, thousands of years of history, and hundreds of languages. A tingle of excitement tickled her brain, coupled with a tinge of fear. She was curious, but it also sounded so _overwhelming_. Did she really have the guts?

Voice discouraged and bewildered, Daria admitted, "I haven't the slightest."

**II**

Back at Bromwell, the proverbial ball of the semester had well begun to roll, leaving a path of papers due and readings to complete in its wake. Though Tom's current major was business, following in the traditional footsteps of the Sloane men in preparation for keeping and extending the Sloane fortune, he now often felt the urge to abandon it for something else. Geography, or even photo-journalism...the thought of employment at National Geographic caused him to salivate, just a little.

_And just how would you break that one to your father? _True, the news of a deviation would not sit well with his parents. He could just see the disappointment in their eyes. _Why are you doing this to us? To yourself? _Despite of Tom's frustrations, he wasn't quite ready to turn his back on his family yet. There had to be a way to compromise. To follow his own path without completely alienating those he loved...did that _ever _actually work?

With a sigh, he glanced down at his razor-thin cell-phone longingly. A month had passed since his rendezvous with Daria, and no answer to his proposal. He would start making plans soon, gathering supplies, applying for visas...and he had a feeling he would be doing it alone. Had he really been so naïve as to think Daria would actually go with him? Hopeful, perhaps. Had he really put himself out on a limb like that? Exposed himself to letdown? Yes, yes he had. He just hoped he hadn't made too great of a fool of himself whilst he did it.

He'd entertained little daydreams, of traveling in distant lands with Daria. Of showing her the ropes, exposing her to new and fantastic things, of getting them out of difficult situations. He wanted to show off to her. Demonstrate his skills, prove that he didn't botch everything. Maybe even be her hero...

_You're pathetic, Sloane. With a capital P. If she wanted to have _anything _to do with you still, she'd have called by now. _

With a groan, Tom grabbed up his book, plunking down in a papizan chair in the living room. He was glad his suite mates were at class or at their jobs, leaving the apartment to himself. He didn't feel like explaining to his friends that yes, he was grumpy, no he didn't want to talk about it. No, it had nothing to do with a girl...that was when they would pounce. He muddled through Hobbes' _Leviathan_, eventually drifting asleep in the perhaps-too-comfortable-for-effective-study chair.

**III**

_Hustle and bustle. Chaos everywhere, delightful chaos, tinged with the spice of curry in the air and cow pies under the hot sun. Banyan trees loomed above, so composed of twisting and turning vines that it was strange to distinguish it as a tree, so old their branches had grown into the ground. A beggar pulled at his pant leg, holding up a hopeful hand, one eye clouded with disease, another dark as pitch and pleading. He opened his mouth to speak. "_We all live in a yellow submarine..."

Tom's eyes opened drowsily, to find his book had tumbled to the floor. Looking around for what had woken him, he found the offending contraption in his pocket. _A yellow submarine, a yellow submarine_ his phone chanted. He blinked his eyes to focus on the caller-ID screen, and the results caused his stomach to flip a little with nervous excitement.

"Daria?"

"Hi Tom."

"What's up?"

"Um...you still wanting a partner for this impending tour de force abroad?"

Tom's mouth cracked into a wide smile, and he fought to conceal the sudden intense excitement coursing through his veins from his voice, as he replied, "Why yes indeed. You have anyone in mind?"

**IV**

"Thanks for coming with me," said Daria, as she and Tom made their way up the steps of Daria's childhood home. Well, young-adulthood home.

"No problem." It was Thanksgiving break, and Daria had finally constructed an argument she felt would be effective in informing her parents of their plans, and asking for their hard earned money to do so.

Letting themselves in, Daria and Tom made their way towards the kitchen. She could hear from the living room, whilst her mother talked on the phone, Jake muttered to himself something about _lousy stupid stock market_. "Maybe this isn't the best time to ask," Daria grumbled, considering bolting.

Tom guided her further into the kitchen with a hand on the small of her back, anticipating her impending escape. "Now or never, Daria. Come on." The feeling of Tom's long fingers against her back caused her to jump a little with surprise, but in the right direction.

"Mrr," she groaned in reply, but steeled herself for the task at hand, walking into the kitchen, Tom following close behind.

"Of course I will, Eric!" exclaimed Helen. "You can count on me! Bye now."

Hanging up the phone, Helen looked up, vision first fixing on her daughter. "Daria! You're home! Jake, look!"

Jake looked up from the newspaper, frustrated expression soon replaced by a gleeful smile. He jumped up from his place at the table. "Daria!!" He locked her into a bear hug before she could protest. His enthusiasm had only increased, with her going away to school. "And you brought a boyfriend! Lay it there, my man!" Jake held out a hand to shake, and with an amused smile, Tom accepted.

"Hi Mr. Morgandorffer."

Taken aback by the familiar voice, Jake peered closer, past the deceptive facial hair. "Tom?"

"Don't feel bad, I got a similar reaction from my own family. Dad found me rooting around in the kitchen in the dark, and nearly called the police."

"It's so nice to see you both," said Helen, kissing Daria on the cheek. "Join us for dinner?"

"Only if it's the cherished Lasagna of my childhood memories," quipped Daria, walking towards the table. Quinn apparently had not yet arrived home from Pepperhill, if she was planning on returning at all.

"As though I let your father near the stove if I can help it..." grumbled Helen in reply, picking up a large tray of lasagna with an oven mitt.

The family and guest shared a pleasant meal, with the usual outbursts from Jake, and more interruptions from Eric via the phone. Finally, Helen got around to asking, "So how's school?"

"Fine." Daria stole a nervous glance over at Tom, winning an encouraging smile. He flashed her a thumbs up under the table, causing the corner of her mouth to twitch in a semblance of a smile.

"Have you signed up for classes for next semester?"

"Funny you should ask that..."

**V**

Daria and Tom slipped outside the house, and as Daria closed the door, she leaned against it, as though she'd just run the marathon of her life. "I've never seen your Dad's eye pop out of head like that..."

"Don't worry, the blood vessels will heal. At least, they did last time."

"Well, it could have gone worse, right?"

"Yes. My father could have suffered _another_ heart attack."

"And your mother could have sworn to lock you in your padded room forever."

"Forcing me to watch _The Italian Job _until I finally came around to her side..."

"Watch _The Godfather _all break, and say you've changed your mind...that'll scare her into changing her mind."

"Except the Corleones were Sicilian."

"That won't matter."

"You're probably right."

Tom took a moment to size Daria up. She seemed a bit more frazzled than usual, eyes quick and bright. She noticed his intent stare, and felt something of a tick inside when she met his evaluative blue eyes. "What?" she questioned, feeling a bit like a sample under a microscope.

"You ok?"

"I'm fine. I think I'll call it a night though. A bit too much excitement for me."

Tom nodded, a warm smile curling the corners of his mouth, eyes twinkling. "Better get over that soon. Because in a little over a month, we'll be in India!"

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's giving this fic the benefit of the doubt and leaving reviews! I appreciate it muchly. Cheers!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Sitting quietly, eyes affixed to the window, Daria reflected on the events that had brought her to that very moment. Preparations for this trip had been something of an adventure in itself, from applying for visas, making plans, buying essentials and packing bags.

She thought back on shopping for a backpack with Tom, at an REI in Lawndale. With something akin to horror, she'd examined the 80 liter bags, which seemed as though they could hold a person her size and a kitchen sink besides. It was much to her relief when Tom came up behind her, two considerably smaller bags in hand. "This is a 40, this is a 35. Want to try?" Both were olive green and black; he knew her well.

Eyeing them suspiciously, she nodded, taking the 40 first. She'd slipped the straps over her narrow shoulders, wiggling to adjust and examine fit. "_It feels funny_," she complained.

"_Momendito." _Tom ducked down behind her, grasping something from the floor, and unzipped the bag, placing them inside. The sudden weight pulled Daria off balance, causing her to wobble.

"_What are you doing_?" she asked, a note of annoyance apparent in her voice.

"_Adding weights, so you have a real idea of how your bag will feel_," answered Tom, undeterred by her ruffled feathers. He'd learned long ago to sidestep her sarcastic defenses to the unknown. She shifted the bag on her shoulders again. Still not right. Moving before her, Tom began to pull at straps and buckles Daria was not even aware of. "_This is your shoulder strap tension_," he said, holding out two straps on either side of her. "_Pull back hard to tighten, and lift the buckle to loosen_." She tried, unaccustomed fingers fumbling. "_This is your chest strap_," he said, buckling a piece of web nylon from one shoulder strap to the other. He then reached around her, pulling out two padded straps that buckled around her waist. She found herself resting a hand on his shoulder to catch her balance as he tugged on the various adjustments of her bag.

Tom glanced up at her through the bangs hanging over his eyes, a soft smile turning up the corners of his mouth before he went back to his task. It was the kind of smile that could mean anything and nothing, and the implications raced through Daria's analytical mind. Was it knowing, pleased, nostalgic, merely friendly, plainly meaningless? Did he know that every time his hands brushed against her, seemingly innocently enough, she fought not to jump out of her skin? Did he know that the feeling of his warmth so close by, his scent of spicy cologne and clean skin that was so uniquely his, took her back to a time when he was hers, and she could lean forward to kiss the pulse upon his neck anytime she wanted?

_Why are you thinking about this? _she'd scolded herself. _Why do you care? _Her thoughts feigned nonchalance, but her senses couldn't be persuaded to disaffection so easily.

"_And these are your waist straps, they help take the weight of your bag off of your shoulders. These up here do that too_." Finally with a smile he'd stepped back. "_Try hefting your bag and tighten the waist straps around your hips. That's how you'll probably want to carry the weight_."

With an uncertain glance at her more experienced friend, she tried it out. "_I feel like a turtle in bondage,_" she'd grumbled, fumbling with the alien mechanisms strapped about her. Was it the unfamiliar equipment strapped about her that inspired a grumpy note in her tone, or the sudden cold that settled about her, as Tom stepped away? Daria felt disinclined to answer, even if it only meant admitting it to herself.

"_You'll get the hang of it_," Tom assured her. "_You're a first time turtle here, after all._"

After making the suggested adjustments, Daria found the weight in the bag did actually sit more comfortably on her body. "_Hmm. I never would have guessed you to be an expert on reptile S and M_."

"_Let's just say I had a ball in the Galapagos Islands...So what do you think_?"

Daria wiggled the bag on her shoulders again. It wasn't bad. Not bad at all. "_I think this is going to work, Darwin._"

Bag shopping had only been the tip of the iceberg. Next came hiking boots, clothes, toiletries. Visas, guidebooks, maps. First aid kits, cameras, spare glasses, malaria medicine. And Daria's least favorite: shots. Polio, Typhoid, Japanese Encephalitis, Yellow Fever, and after Helen overheard the pair's morbid joking about India being among the rabies capitals of the world, a three shot rabies cycle. By the time it was all over with, Daria felt like a human pincushion. "_I might as well have sprung for a tattoo_," she'd mumbled, as the seemingly umpteenth needle pierced her skin, delivering a small dosage of Yellow Fever.

"_If your yellow book is ruined in a monsoon deluge, you'll wish you'd gotten one to remember all the inoculations," _joked Tom, sitting nearby as Daria underwent the motions. He'd already been initiated into the pincushion club for South America, and remembered the unpleasantries all too well. He'd had a mild flu-like reaction to his first rabies shot, and hoped Daria wouldn't go through the same.

"_Is this the voice of experience?"_

He smiled sheepishly. "_Maybe."_

_"Note to self: Ziploc baggies."_

"_Ziploc baggies, duct tape, and zipties are a backpacker's best friend."_

_"In case one needs to commit an abduction?"_

_"Or emergency surgery. Or both."_

Daria raised an eyebrow, commending Tom mentally for working to take her mind off of the dull throbbing in her upper left arm. _"Hmm. **That **wasn't on the front of the brochure."_

_"The good stuff never is."_

Now, Daria sat mesmerized at the window, feeling the balmy night air of Mumbai press against her skin. It was a kind of warmth that promised to turn sweltering with the rising sun, but in the night hours could be considered perfection. Their taxi was a small yellow vehicle, smelling heavily of sandalwood incense, a golden statuette of Ganesh standing guard upon the dashboard, a withered offering of marigold at his feet from the previous day. A plethora of other Hindu deities joined it on the windshield, brightly colored stickers of Shiva, Lakshmi, Hanuman, and others. The seats were lumpy and decrepit, deficient of proper seatbelts, well used by hundreds of fares before them. Daria found she liked the atmosphere of the cab in the dark, this small capsule of theirs racing far too quickly through the dark streets on the left side of the road, ropey Banyan trees looming over them.

The avenue widened as they went on, and Daria could just barely make out a sea of lumps along the sidewalk. Squinting, she peered closer, noticing the tarp and cloth shelters constructed on the sidewalks. It reminded her oddly of the play shelters Quinn and her friends would construct of sheets and chairs at sleepovers (she herself had preferred cardboard boxes, with just room for one). As a bony arm emerged from one of the lumps, Daria realized it was a sea of people sleeping on the street, not quite ready to face the day at four in the morning. With raised eyebrows, she turned to look at Tom, who had just come to a similar realization at his own window.

He watched her interestedly, curious of what her first impressions of true poverty would be. Tom remembered his own, in Peru, driving on a bus outside of Lima. The hovels constructed of scrap metal and wood, rocks, plastic, and whatever else could be scrounged had stretched out across the desert, as far as the eye could see.

With a pained expression, Daria turned away from his intent eyes, back to take in more of this strange new world. Academically, of course she knew such things existed, but she began to understand just what Tom meant about _experiencing _it. It's one thing to know, it's entirely another to _see_. Daria realized through this new weight upon her heart, she was still only watching from behind a pane of glass. Perhaps now she could roll down her window and reach out and touch this new reality, but she still sat in her own secure environment, passing through quickly in a vehicle. Sooner or later she and Tom would be _in _it. Walking through it. Looking these people who lived a world so different from her own in the eye. The thought inspired a tingle in the pit of her stomach, utterly indistinguishable between excitement and apprehension.

They passed through the darkened streets, until finally the taxi came to a stop. "The Seashore hotel?" asked Tom of the driver, brow slightly furrowed as he peered out the windows, searching for a sign of their destination. Daria noticed Tom had out the India Lonelyplanet, open to a map of Mumbai's Colaba district. The driver waved down the street, indicating an indeterminable point ahead. "Down there. Close. You will find," he said with a smile.

"Can't you take us?" he asked.

"Very close, sir. You will find," insisted the driver with an enigmatic wiggle of head that meant neither yes or no, making no move to propel the car any further. With a smile he got out of the driver's seat, opening Daria's door, and the trunk. He handed the backpackers their bags, and waited patiently. As Tom strapped on his bag, he glanced around, obviously displeased with the situation.

"It is close?" he asked again, pointing down the street.

"Very close," assured the driver, black mustache lifting with a smile.

While Daria didn't exactly feel great about the current situation, at the same time, she didn't exactly know what else to do. Why wouldn't the driver take them all the way to their hotel? The exhaustion of being in transit for more than 24 hours began to weigh on her, along with a healthy sense of caution of the seemingly deserted city streets ahead of them. She watched Tom carefully, reading his body language, his feelings about a situation he had far more experience with. Though he did not appear pleased either, he too seemed to know not what else to do. After handing the driver a hundred rupee tip, Tom hefted his bag, watching the red taillights of the taxi disappear into the hazy night.

Glancing down at the map, and ahead, Tom shrugged. "Strange," he said, eyeing the shadows apprehensively.

"Is it safe?" asked Daria, thinking that they'd just been dropped off haphazardly in the street in Mumbai at four in the morning. One of the largest cities of the world, not exactly known for it's security in after-hours.

"Probably. See, we've barely been here an hour, and we're starting our adventures already." Tom watched Daria carefully. Their first hitch in the trip, of which he knew would only be one in a thousand over the course of their journey. How would she handle it? Had he made a mistake to bring her after all? Much to his relief, Daria lifted her chin, steeling herself to what lay ahead.

"Shall we walk?" she asked, answering her own question with the onwards motion of her feet.

With a smile, heart swelling with a bit of pride, Tom followed. _Yes ma'm _he answered inwardly, thinking he'd made a good choice after all. The pair trooped down the street, passing people now already up and about, building fires before their shelters for breakfast tea. They watched with curious dark eyes, women in bright but soiled saris smiling quietly at the obviously newly arrived foreigners. Finding the oceanfront, they walked on, past towering buildings with a colonial British flair. Daria couldn't help but notice all the plants in bloom, even in the winter, bougainvillea exploding in waves of pink and white over wrought iron fences, and delicate white Jacaranda drooping down from their branches. There was a tranquility to the city in the early morning hours Daria suspected would evaporate with the coming of the sun.

Finally they arrived at their hotel, a tall building squirreled away in a corner, amongst a stand of Banyan trees and other decaying architecture. The night watchman directed them up four floors, and by the time they reached their destination, Daria felt certain she could curl up on the floor and fall asleep right in front of the reception desk.

After signing in, settling into a new room, and showers to wash off hours and hours of travel grime, Daria and Tom stared across the room at each other from their diminutive but comfortable single beds. "We made it," he said quietly, eyes drooping closed with fatigue.

Daria smiled slightly, a sense of accomplishment and excitement mixing in with her exhaustion. "By the skin of our teeth."

No longer able to keep his eyes open, Tom settled further into his pillow. "Darlin', just you wait."

She would have continued their usual banner. _Since when the hell do you call me darlin? _But Daria noticed Tom's body relax, breathing deepening to a steady rise and fall of his chest, and knew he wouldn't have heard a word. "Good night to you too," she whispered, quickly following suit into the arms of Orpheus.

**II**

Taking a deep breath of the breeze whipping past his face, Tom found himself amidst a difficult decision, faced with two enticing views before him. Neither intentionally beckoned his attention, but both were equally captivating. One stretched out before him, the silvery waters of the harbor of Mumbai meeting the open ocean, and a chain of lush green islands which were their destination of the hour. Seagulls swooped down, picking at hopeful prizes afloat in the waves. Large vessels hovered in the distance, navy ships and commercial liners, obscured by the haze of distance and air pollution. Upon closer glance, the water of the harbor teemed with slick oil spills glittering rainbow colors in the hot sun, and other debris. Even after only a few days in India, Tom was quickly becoming accustomed to the sight of discarded waste everywhere.

The other sight which drew his attention stood a few feet away from him at the railing, also taking in the sight of the harbor. The sea breeze lifted her brown hair from her face, relieving some of the oppressive Indian midday heat, tugging out that mona lisa smile of which he'd had to privilege to see quite a lot as of late. Thus far Daria had taken the intense shock of the bustling metropolis in stride, fielding developing world idiosyncrasies like a champ. Dare he say it? The misery chic was enjoying herself, and better yet, she didn't seem to care to make a secret of it. She wore a thin gray t-shirt, pants of her favorite drab green color, and a pair of hiking boots that rivaled her usual footwear in properties of ass-kicking capabilities. India's culturally conservative dress code of covering shoulders and knees may have caused a problem of fashion for some tourists, but Daria had no complaints.

Together, they were learning the tricks of the street. How to sidestep cowpies in the middle of the crowded sidewalk, or the cows themselves, if need be. Crossing impossibly busy streets by just making a break for it with a crowd of locals, always looking both ways, no matter which direction traffic was supposed to come from. Every meal was an adventure in itself, deciphering the menu best they could with a vague idea of what would arrive at the table. Becoming vegetarians was not only easy in India, where 80 percent of the population refrained from consuming meat, but it seemed like a good idea for the time being, considering meat handling practices were iffy at best. The _thali_ plate, a cheap set priced meal that came with several samples of curries, curd, rice and the flatbreads _nan_ or _chupati _became their friend.

Daria thought back on their very first day wandering the streets of Mumbai. Approaching the Gateway of India, in nearly no time at all they were seized upon by men bearing _puja _bracelets. Nearly before they could blink, the bright red and yellow lengths of string were tied about their wrists, a hasty Hindu prayer for long life blessing them, a mark of red daubed upon their foreheads, and a subsequent demand for financial compensation. "_What just happened?" _exclaimed Daria out loud, ten rupees poorer, watching the men rush towards the next group of tourists on _chappel _clad feat. She glanced down at the crimson bracelet now adorning her slender wrist, and back up again.

Chuckling at the enterprising fellows, Tom answered, "_Tourist entrapment." _Before Daria could wipe off the mark of blessing, he raised his camera, capturing a snapshot of that priceless expression.

"And just think," said Tom, moving to stand closer to Daria at the railing. "We could be playing in a Bollywood movie right now."

Daria paid Tom a sliding glance, smirk in place. "I know _I _would enjoy being portrayed as a trashy westerner in an Indian pop musical," she deadpanned. "That is, if it weren't for this meddling island."

The night before, whilst walking along the waterfront, Tom and Daria had been invited to partake in the creation of a Bollywood flick. Several other westerners at the hotel were also invited to the same gig. Though it would have been a unique experience to say the least, it wasn't exactly the kind that appealed to either Daria or Tom. A better prize neared closer and closer, the lush green island of which both had set their sight upon. The Hindu caves of Elephanta Island promised their first taste of ancient statuary carving.

The boat siddled closer, pulling in for a rather rough landing at the dock. The pair disembarked, and were immediately were flooded by hawkers of all flavors, offering everything from spiced peanuts to mass produced bronze miniatures. A small child latched onto Daria as they made their way down the causeway. Tom watched how Daria fielded the small merchant, who hefted a basket of roasted corn on the cob seemingly as large as she was upon her head. "Corn, madam?"

"No thank you," said Daria, eyeing the little girl. Her eyes were large and dark, sparkling with laughter, even while her limbs were bone thin with possible malnourishment. She wore just the top portion of a _salwar_ _kameez, _young enough for clothing proprieties to not quite apply yet. Though dusty, it was a pink so bright as to burn the retinas in the blazing Indian sun. Her little feet were bare, but easily tramped across dirt and gravel Daria knew would have caused her to flinch with pain.

Not ready to be swept aside so lightly, she persisted with a mischievous smile. "Come, madam. Its very good. My mother cooked."

"Hmm," said Daria, smiling down at the girl, an eyebrow raised.

"Five rupees each?" The little girl beamed, well aware of the difficulty of saying no to such a darling face.

"Maybe later," evaded Daria.

"You promise?"

"I promise maybe."

The girl held out a hand to shake, balancing the basket effortlessly without a hand upon it. Daria shook the grubby little hand. "You cannot break a promise, Madam. Corn later."

Daria laughed at the girl's enterprising zeal. It reminded her of herself at a younger age, negotiating bribes and allowance raises with her mother. Only Daria had never been depended upon to bring home bread money for a large family. Behind that little dazzling smile, there was a cause much more important at stake. "Alright then. Find us later. We'll buy corn."

The girl nodded happily. "You buy corn _only_ from me. You promised." She then scampered away on skinny legs to the next potential customers.

Tom smiled at the events just passed, watching her harangue a wealthier Indian couple. It was easy to pick the rich from the poor, as the well to do possessed waistlines of ample measurement. "I was waiting for her to whip out a contract. Future businesswoman, you think?"

He glanced over at Daria, to see her watching the little girl with a troubled expression. "How many of these children do you think will ever see a classroom?" she asked quietly, voice distant.

Tom sighed with the thought. "Not nearly enough," he answered honestly. "She might. She might not. She might sell corn to tourists for the rest of her life here."

Daria sighed heavily, obviously upset by the thought, though in her own inward way. She seemed reluctant to discuss the issue further, and they began to ascend the steps up to the caves in somewhat silence. The steps were lined with dozens of booths, offering all kinds of souvenirs, from soapstone carvings to bronzes to wooden statuettes. Monkeys also lined the paths. Macaques, pale tan, with pink faces and expressive little black eyes. They watched the tourists and vendors alike with an enterprising eye, waiting for an opportunity to snatch up a snack of fruit or biscuits at the first sign of inattention.

Finally at the top of the hill, they proceeded to explore the caves. Large statues, twice Daria's height or more, carved directly out of the rock loomed above them. The caves smelled of musty bat guano, and in the darker enclaves one could see the little creatures hanging like pods from the cool stone ceiling. Daria attempted photography, but found it impossible in the darkness, even with flash.

It was standing before a huge carved head of Shiva, eyes heavy lidded in the tranquility of meditation, that Daria experienced a chill run down her back. For the past week it was impossible to ignore that they were amidst a culture steeped in centuries of tradition, somehow running hand in hand with future innovations to create something distinctly Indian. But it was standing there, staring in the three faceted face of Shiva made to represent the creation, destruction, and preservation of the universe that it really hit Daria how very _ancient _this culture was. The island itself dated back to the 800s, and Hinduism's roots traced all the way back into the civilization that rose from the Indus valley. It was an interesting sensation, different and new, coming from a country whose present dominant civilization could at best be considered four hundred years old.

Daria felt a presence close behind her, and knew Tom stood nearby. An unexpected silence settled over the cave, as a group of Indian tourists exited to visit the next. "What's he saying?" Tom whispered in her ear, reluctant to raise his voice in the tranquil moment.

Daria pushed down the thrill of adrenaline that caused her heart to raise up into her throat, at the feel of Tom's warm breath against her ear. "He says he is The Destroyer of good photographs," she deadpanned, shattering the silence, killing the mood with a calculated defense. "How are you getting pictures?" she asked, holding up her digital camera. So what if she hadn't read the instruction manual? The automatic setting was just so handy...except for now.

Reaching around Daria, Tom pressed a few buttons on her Fuji Finepix. "Raise the ISO," he suggested. "Just remember to put it back when we go into the sunlight." He congratulated himself on such a cool delivery, even as the hand which slightly brushed hers felt as though it had been burned. It was going to be a long journey, he could already tell. Enjoyable, no doubt, but if he continued this extent of self control, perhaps a bit masochistic.

Intent on avoiding an incident in a holy Hindu cave, as he was known to act on romantic impulses with Daria in enclosed spaces, he wandered towards the entrance, waiting for her to finish exploring and join him to the next one.

**III**

At the top of the island, Tom and Daria sat perched upon large rocks, looking down at a former missile bunker, and out at the harbor, stretching out to the busy city of Mumbai. A trio of monkeys sat grooming each other a few yards away, but paid them no mind. "Hungry for lunch?" asked Tom, thinking of the _nan_ they had packed away for the noontime repast in his daypack.

Daria eyed the monkeys, thinking the presentation of food of any sort could quickly kill the tranquility of the moment. "Maybe later," she said. "Besides. If you recall, we have a date with an enterprising little corn vendor."

"Ah yes. That is a contract I wouldn't dare break." Though Tom wouldn't chide her for it, Tom had noticed Daria had grown something of a soft spot for the little ones. He'd seen it fleetingly once in her attempt to help Tad Gupty find his parents at that fateful homecoming parade, but she certainly hadn't been comfortable with any maternal twinges she may have felt. Most likely, she still wasn't. He remembered an incident the previous day, when they had visited Victoria station to purchase train tickets out of Mumbai. As beggar children often do, a group had singled out the female westerner, undoubtedly having more luck up that alley in gathering _baksheesh_. Alms, though in the literal translation, _forgiveness. _

He'd walked ahead for a moment, only to be summoned back by an alarmed call of "_Tom!" _Turning back, he'd found Daria surrounded by a swarm of three pint sized children, filthy but sweet, one on each arm and the smallest riding on her foot. The expression on her face was priceless, not angry, but bewildered, unable to swat them away, but unable to move. Though if he'd taken a moment to snap a shot, she may have done something unpleasant with his prized camera.

He'd made his way towards her, waving the children away, who ducked away from him surprisingly, almost alarmingly, fast. Was the fear of men merely cultural, or did a frustrated man with a heavy hand beat them at the tarp shack they called home? It was impossible to know. Daria followed close behind into the station, and out the corner of his eye he noticed her waving goodbye to the children, who'd unbegrudgingly, even excitedly, returned the farewell.

Did this mean Daria was becoming soft? Losing her edge, or even just her tendency to be uncomfortable around children? Interestingly enough, Tom didn't read it as such. He'd been told time and time again by those who had visited, that no one walks away from India unchanged. There's simply too much contradiction, too many sights and experiences that awe and amaze, side by side with heart-wrenching poverty. After only a week, Tom was beginning to see why a place like India would make you question your beliefs, your principles, and the very foundation upon which you have built yourself as a person.

Perhaps Daria could usually play life as the crowned Queen of the disaffected, but just for once, Tom dared think she couldn't feign nonchalance any longer. And by far, this was only the beginning, for the both of them.

**A/N: _chappels _are Indian sandals. **

**_Salwar Kameez _is a popular form of women's dress, which is a long shirt, loose pants, and usually accompanied by a matching scarf. **


End file.
